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I shake my head at him. “It’s not hot out here, and I glanced at heronce.You’re reaching, and you know it.”That’s a total lie.I can’t seem to keep my eyes off of her, and Jelani is the most perspective person I’ve ever met.
“You can lie to me, but don’t lie to yourself.” He tsks with a deep chuckle, turning back around and sprinting off for the lockers. I need to get it together.
I shake myself out, sprinting over to where the women are getting ready for practice. Elise has these tiny pink shorts on, and I wish I could scream at her to cover up so it’d be easier to stop myself from looking, but my guess is that wouldn’t win me any brownie points with the team, so I keep my mouth shut.
“Listen up, ladies,” I shout, clapping my hands together to get their attention off of the asses of my teammates. These men are some of my best friends, but I want to strangle them sometimes. They’ve taken to wearing the shortest shorts they can fit their asses in, and it’s all for the sake of the twenty-year-olds who can’t keep their eyes to themselves.
“Yes, Coach,” a few of them grumble, and Elise has the decency to cover her mouth, stifling a laugh. The motion has the corners of my lips twitching, but I shut it down, scowling instead.
“We’re going to do some new drills today,” I say, going on to explain what each component entails, and when ready, they line up with Letty at the goalpost. Chelsea starts the drill, moving around the mannequin at the centre line, pretending as if it were a defender. She checks the mannequin's shoulder, sprints in front, and pins it while calling the pass. Elise is up next.She plays a pass to Chelsea, who holds off the mannequin and maintains control of the ball.
I know that this is a drill, but it’s still damn impressive to see how seriously these women take the sport they love. They’re forces to be reckoned with.
And Letty, I swear, she’s this high-spirited spitfire off the field, but the moment she’s locked in as goalkeeper, she’s in it. A mask overtakes her face, and there’s not a single thought in or out of her head that you’ll see coming.
Chelsea spins around the mannequin and into the penalty box, going head-to-head with Letty. Chelsea shoots the ball past Letty, but Letty still manages to throw her entire body into it, keeping it from her net by a breath.
Letty smirks at Chelsea, who tackles her playfully, and I look away on instinct, having seen first-hand how those two play-fight. It usually ends up with at least one of them missing an article of clothing, and I have zero interest in seeing that.
“Cut it out—Coach looks like he’s about to be sick,” Elise tells them, soft laughter slipping into her voice.
I look up when I hear the catcalls and laughter of the team, shaking my head.
Chelsea runs to the back of the line, and Elise starts the drill the same as she had. Her movements are maddeningly quick, and with every motion, her ass jiggles in those tiny spandex shorts I love so much.Or hate. I’m undecided. They’re like a cruel form of modern torture.
When Elise gets to Letty, she fakes her out, hitting the ball in the opposite side of the net she had her body angled at. It’s not a clean shot given the poor positioning, but it’s enough to slip by Letty.
“Hell yeah, baby!” Elise shouts, pumping her fist in the air, and this time, I’m unable to hold back the smile that takes over my face.
Elise glances at me before I can school the expression, but before she can hassle me about it, Letty teases her with her hands on her hips as she shouts, “Back of the line, hotshot.”
The rest of practice goes on like this. Some of these women have the speed and agility most professional players would kill for, and it’s honestly unbelievable to witness. It’s even more incredible to experience as their coach, though I know it’s not forever.
It makes me miss playing football, but in the same way, it also makes me a little miserable because with that thought is the memory ofwhyI’d wanted to stop playing in the first place.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
FRIDAY, APRIL 18
In a sick turn of events,the bus for our away game broke down and we had to take a much smaller one. Which means I’m stuck beside Rafael. As team captain, it only seemed fitting, but I’m not sure breathing the same air as this man is safe when he’s the one my thoughts turn to when I fuck myself at night.
I need to get laid.
Rafael’s outer thigh is smooshed against mine, pulling my thoughts back to him. My breath gets caught in my throat as he turns to face me, and I watch with rapt attention as his Adam’s apple bobs.
“Sorry, tight space,” he says, but it’s the wrong thing to say when I feel like a horny teenager.
My brows climb, and I clench my knees together, swallowing thickly, giving him a small nod. My mouth feels dry. “Nothing you can do about it,” I say.
We cleared the air about my episode, but it doesn’t mean things aren’t still awkward. They absolutely are, and for a multitude of reasons. The first being that I’m sort of mortified over my behaviour, and I’m still trying to figure out how to pay off the debt I accrued while in my most recent manic state.
It’s not like this hasn’t happened to me before. It has, it’s just never been because I was dumb enough not to take my meds.
Sometimes when I need a medication change or my dose needs to be adjusted, I’ll spend an exorbitant amount of money on shit I don’t need. It’s impulsive and reckless, but I can’t help it. One time, I even took out a loan. It’s an unfortunate reality of bipolar disorder for many people, and I really try not to beat myself up about it, but it’s hard. Especially when there are witnesses to the mania.
Witnesses I really wish hadn’t seen me like that, because now every time I see him, I’m reminded of my mistakes, and my hands start to feel clammy with embarrassment.
The other major reason things are so painfully awkward is directly related to the number of orgasms I’ve had with this man's face,and body, in mind.